The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Alex Troutt Thrillers Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  The wind whipped more snow and ice in our faces as Nick tried to protect himself by putting his nose into his arm. He yelled above the weather, “I don’t know. Some bar in Back Bay.”

  I knew then where we’d start circulating Barden’s picture. For now, though, we had to figure out if the “women’s murder club” theory had any roots of fact.

  16

  “What’s your take so far?” Nick whispered as I ambled over to the fireplace, glancing at framed family photos.

  “I think Jeanne is holding back.”

  “But she just broke down and cried right in front of us. Do you think that was all an act? If so, she belongs in Hollywood.” Nick craned his neck to look down a wide hallway that led to the kitchen.

  “People cry for many reasons. You ever caught a kid lying?” I asked him.

  “I do have this one niece who can just turn on the tear faucet at a moment’s notice.”

  I raised an eyebrow; he’d just made my point.

  “Okay, the jury’s still out,” he said.

  “I apologize, Agent Giordano and Agent Radowski. I just needed some time to gather myself.” Jeanne had swept in from the dining room behind us, startling me. I wondered if she’d overheard our conversation.

  “That’s okay. I understand how difficult this must be. No one expects their husband to die at such a young age.”

  With the grace of a swan, she took a seat on the couch while extending her hand for us to sit in chairs opposite her. “I thought Gerda was in the process of getting you a refreshment. I’ll need to speak with her. She’s a little, uh, rough around the edges.”

  While Gerda had been forced to wear a traditional maid outfit, she had the build of a German tank, or a Patriots linebacker, depending on which you feared most. Her demeanor was stoic, but I could see her displeasure as she looked down her nose at us when we’d arrived. Why exactly, I wasn’t sure, unless she just hated her life.

  “No sighting of Gerda, but we’re fine. Just had our morning shot of coffee.”

  “Very well,” she said, emptying her lungs for at least ten seconds.

  I searched her facial structure, looking for a hint of her true thoughts. She pursed her lips, then set her hands in her lap. Her eyes drifted to the fireplace where a simmering fire added a homey vibe to an otherwise stuffy place.

  “Please,” she said again, offering for us to sit in the chairs. I gave Nick the eye until he got the hint that we needed to oblige her request. He went for the Queen Anne chair on the left at the same time I did, and I almost sat on his lap. It was a nice comedy routine, if we weren’t in the middle of a highly sensitive discussion.

  Taking the other chair, I said, “Do you have family here with you, upstairs consoling the girls?”

  She sniffled, then pulled out a tissue and dabbed her nose. “It’s just us. Our families live in California. We’ve had a few friends come by, drop off food that we’ll never eat.” Another deep breath. “We’re having a contest, the girls and I, to see who can shed the most tears by this weekend.” She tried to laugh at herself, but she hardly made a noise.

  I took another gander at the mother of twin teenage girls. Time hadn’t been kind to Jeanne. Her bio had her age at forty-one, but if it had said fifty-one, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Not that she didn’t put effort into her looks. Her highlighted hair was set in a neat bun. Her makeup was top dollar, as was her outfit, a flowing, black chiffon number. Jewelry was just south of Gaudy and Overindulgent. She couldn’t make a hand gesture without clanging platinum or diamonds.

  With all the resources at her disposal, however, she hadn’t been able to curb the influx of wrinkles. Given their lavish lifestyle and the likely social pressure to always look thirty, I wondered if nip-and-tuck surgery had been debated between her and Rick. Then again, not all couples shared everything—at least, that was what I was hoping to find out.

  “I see lots of happy faces in your family pictures around the living room. How long have you and Rick been married?” I asked casually.

  “Just celebrated our nineteenth wedding anniversary.”

  “Do anything special?”

  Jeanne took in a shaky breath. I didn’t want to interrupt her thoughts, so I let her take a moment and calm down a bit.

  She attempted a smile, then said, “We talked about going to Europe, maybe Ireland, but then Rick changed his mind. Said he was in the middle of so many important deals, he didn’t want to leave the country. Then he said we could plan something really special for our twentieth. Maybe take a two-month tour of Europe.”

  My phone buzzed from inside my purse. I peeked at it and saw Brad’s name. Not wanting to seem distracted, I left the text for later and returned my focus to Mrs. Lepino. With a look of stone, she stared straight ahead. I flipped a quick glance over my shoulder, wondering if she’d zeroed in on a memorable picture or memento. The only thing behind us was a set of framed windows outlined by blue, silk curtains.

  “Jeanne,” I said.

  Her eyes didn’t blink.

  Nick gave me a nod, then pretended to clear his throat, obviously hoping to wake her from this daze.

  “Jeanne, do I need to get you a glass of water?” I leaned forward, ready to rise.

  Looking beyond her, I wondered if I should try to find Gerda or possibly Jeanne’s daughters, someone to bring her back to planet Earth. I just hoped she wasn’t having a panic attack, or worse yet, a nervous breakdown.

  Nick removed his keys from his pocket and jingled them.

  Her eyelids began to droop and just that small change in appearance made her look tired as hell, or drugged up. Maybe both. I hadn’t smelled any alcohol on her breath.

  “Jeanne, are you okay? Can we call a friend?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a tank of a woman slipping through the far room.

  “Gerda,” I called out. But she kept walking.

  I looked again at Jeanne and noticed her fingers fidgeting with her tissue. Actually, mauling it. “You’re upset, Jeanne. It’s completely understandable.” My voice was soft and delicate. “We can take a break while you take care of yourself.”

  “It’s not necessary,” she said in a loud monotone, her eyes still boring holes through the window.

  “Okay.” She seemed off kilter. I traded glances with Nick.

  “I’m not losing my marbles, and I haven’t been popping pills.”

  I paused for a second, then said, “Glad you’re doing okay. You just had a worried—”

  “The problem is Rick. Was Rick. And now he’s dead.”

  I had no idea where she was taking this, but I needed to keep her talking. I said, “Husbands, spouses in general, can be difficult. I know that as much as anyone.”

  “You didn’t know Rick.”

  “True. Only you did. Well, you probably knew him the best. What was he like?”

  She turned her head in my direction, resting her open hand on her knee, as if that might help propel her words.

  “You really want to know what Rick Lepino was like?”

  She’d gone from nearly catatonic to animated in just a few seconds. I could practically see lava spilling out of the gurgling volcano.

  “Yes, Jeanne. Tell us.”

  She leaned to her left and yanked a tissue from a decorated box, and then she pushed both hands down into her lap.

  “Rick Lepino hasn’t been close to me or the girls in years.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “His fucking ego, that’s why,” she said loudly, throwing up a hand.

  I scooted back in my chair, since her voice had practically rattled my brains. “I understand he was an insurance salesman.”

  “Sure as hell was. He wasn’t one of those cheesy guys set up in a rundown strip center, chasing a hundred dollars here and there. No, Richard B. Lepino only courted the big corporations. Or, if you got him after a couple of drinks, he might say they begged to do business with him. Why? Because he thought his shit didn’t stink.
Well, I got news for them, you, and everyone else in this fucked-up world. Richard B. Lepino’s shit smelled worse than any shit I have ever smelled. Bar none!” She raised a finger to the sky.

  My concerns about her opening up had just been erased, in spades. But I doubted her deep-seated anger had anything to do with his bathroom habits. At least I hoped not.

  I ignored the potty talk and focused on her first comment at the higher decibel level. “Jeanne, it’s not uncommon for relatives and family members to show anger in a time like this. No one is perfect.”

  Her cheeks puffed, and a bit of drool flew out of her mouth. She was seething, as if she were a wild animal who’d just been branded.

  “Perfect? He was perfect at just one thing.”

  I paused, but realized I had to ask. “What was that?”

  “Fucking up my life.”

  Nick gave me the sign, and he jumped in. “Jeanne, looking beyond some of this initial emotion you’re feeling, can you tell us if Rick, or even you, had been threatened recently, maybe going back the last two years?”

  “I threatened him.” She fired a fake gun with her fingers and gave Nick a knowing nod.

  “Can you please—” Nick started.

  “Gerda, please bring us some ice water,” she called out, then clapped her hands twice.

  I understood why Gerda looked beaten down.

  Moving at the same methodical pace as earlier, Gerda walked in carrying a tray with a glass carafe and three glasses. She poured water into each glass and set them on coasters on the table.

  “Is that everything, Mrs. Lepino?”

  “Yes,” Jeanne said, back to staring out the window, then she held up a hand before Gerda could disappear. “Don’t call me Mrs. Lepino ever again.”

  “Very well. What should I call you then?”

  “Jeanne. No, that won’t work. Call me by my maiden name, Uhew.”

  “Okay, Mrs.—”

  “Ms., thank you.”

  “Right. Ms. Uhew.”

  And just like that, she’d changed her name. Nick and I each raised an eyebrow as Gerda plodded out of the living room.

  Jeanne took three big gulps of her water, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Nick said, “Jeanne, as you know, we’re here to talk about the murder of your husband. I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, but you did say you threatened him.”

  “That’s an easy one. I threatened him all the time. Threatened to stop cooking, to stop cleaning. Well, I actually followed through on those.” She strummed her fingers together while giggling in a nefarious way.

  “How so?” I asked.

  “I put my foot down and stopped. It was that simple. He made a countermove.”

  “How so?”

  “He went out and got Gerda, that’s how.”

  Interesting that Rick Lepino had chosen a German tank over a slinky sports car. For some reason, my mind went to Sydney. I’d forgotten to ask Mark who had hired her and why. I’d been so needing of his attention, I’d let many of my other concerns fall to the wayside. But I couldn’t drop it. The collegiate free spirit not only had crossed the line with me, but her actions were impacting our daughter, and not in a positive way.

  “Jeanne, do you know of any colleague or neighbor or anyone else who has threatened your husband’s life?” I tried to guide her off the revenge soapbox.

  Her lips formed a straight line, and she lifted her chin. “It’s time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “That I tell you everything,” she said, locking her eyes on mine.

  I wondered what the last ten minutes had been all about, but I was game.

  She gulped more water, then spilled her guts. “About four months ago, at about ten in the evening, the doorbell rang. Gerda had gone home for the night, so I answered the door.” She pinched the corners of her eyes and shook her head once.

  “And who was there?” I said with a quick glance at Nick, who was watching Jeanne intently.

  “A young girl, crying, in hysterics.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “I’d never seen her before in my life.”

  I looked down at the rug for a second.

  “But I had heard her before, moaning and yelling in all her glory.”

  Oh hell. I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask a follow-up question, afraid the Jeanne Uhew volcano might erupt.

  Nick stepped in front of the speeding locomotive. “Moaning, yelling, crying. Was she on something maybe? I’m assuming she didn’t attack you.”

  “Hell no. She attacked Rick, scratching him and clawing him with her obnoxious fingernails.”

  “What?” Nick’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he moved to the edge of his seat.

  Jeanne shook her head, apparently annoyed that Nick hadn’t caught on.

  “Agent Radowski, the little tramp fucked my husband and left her marks on him like a dog pissing on a tree.”

  He blinked a few times and sat back. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “I’d found a grainy video he’d taken on his cell phone, a sex tape I guess you’d call it. Can’t see much, but oh my, the sounds carved a hole in my chest. That little slut. Felicia.” She said the name with notable disgust, then drained her glass. She picked up the glass pitcher and started to pour more water, but changed her mind and returned the pitcher to the tray.

  She inhaled a deep breath. “She stood in the doorway that night yelling at me, and then at Rick, claiming he’d made all sorts of promises to her about leaving me and shacking up with her. I was devastated, of course, but I just laughed in her face.”

  “I bet that didn’t go over well,” I said.

  “She took a swipe at me with those nails. Rick grabbed her by the wrist and asked her to leave. I told her she was nothing more than a Kim Kardashian starter kit. And if she wanted her actual fifteen minutes of fame to become a reality, she needed to find another ugly, half-bald husband.”

  “I’m confused. You hated him for cheating on you, but then you stood up for him in front of his—”

  “It’s easy. I signed a pre-nup. If he dumped me, I’d get seventy percent of everything, now and going forward.”

  “Why would he have signed that?”

  “Because he was in love, I guess. Who knows?” She licked her lips. “The sad part was, when we finally closed the door, our daughters were standing at the bottom of the stairs, both with expressions of disbelief. They’d heard everything.”

  “Must have been rough.”

  “It was. But it’s best for the girls to know what their father was truly like and not some make-believe Superman image.”

  A quiet calm settled over the living room. I reached for my water, but before my lips touched the glass, Jeanne let it rip.

  “Felicia was one of many.”

  I took a quick sip, then set down the glass. “Jeanne, you don’t have to—”

  “No, I do need to say it. Everything. There’s a method to my emotional madness, I assure you.”

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  “I frankly can’t tell you all the names, but in the last year I’m aware of Kelly, and Amber, and of course our house visitor, Felicia. Oh, I’ve heard him having phone sex with a girl named Amanda. I’m not even sure she’s in college yet. Can you believe it? He fucked some girl almost as young as his daughter. He’s fucking sick!”

  After a moment of silence, I ventured with, “Does that help you, getting it off your chest?”

  She released a tired breath and rubbed under her eyes. “To a degree, yes. But there’s something else I need to tell you.”

  “What’s that?” Nick asked with little enthusiasm. Perhaps he was tired of the histrionics and drama.

  “The police detective showed me the pictures of the rings. They are mine.”

  Now we’d finally hit the meat on the bone.

  “Were they recently stolen?” I asked.

  “Yes, but I wasn’t sure at first. Let me explain.” She repositioned he
rself on the couch and propped a pillow behind her. “About three weeks ago, I went to work out at my gym. As usual, I left my rings in the locker room. When I got back to my locker after my aerobics session, they were gone.”

  “Did you talk to management?”

  “Hell yes, I did. Those rings are worth more than your salaries combined. I don’t mean to offend you.”

  “That’s okay. We get the picture,” I said.

  “But I talked to management, and they talked to security, who checked their cameras. Nothing came up, from what I was told several days later. Frankly, I figured one of Rick’s little floozies had somehow squirmed her way into the locker, stolen my rings, then seduced someone to keep her identity hidden.”

  I just stared at her.

  “You think I’ve watched too many Mission Impossible movies, don’t you?”

  “It’s a theory.”

  “But now that we’ve heard how he died, I have my doubts that any of those bimbos could have pulled it off.” A smile cracked her creased face, and then she wagged a finger between me and Nick. “You’re wondering if I could have done it.” She began to laugh. “Oh, I hated that man so. And I’m in decent shape. But I’m just not that creative or violent.”

  I wasn’t sure about the violent part, but I nodded anyway. “We’d like to look at your cell phone without getting a warrant.”

  “I have no problem with that. I’m pissed and upset, but I’m ready to move on. I got a nice fat insurance payday ahead of me.”

  More incentive. I would ask Brad to look into the insurance policy and when it was purchased.

  She retrieved her phone, saying she’d be available to talk more if we needed her.

  Nick and I shut the house door behind us and walked into the blustery cold.

  “This weather beats the weather in there,” Nick said, moving quickly to his car.

  “Uhew. What a name!”

  “You’re one to speak.”

  “So you know about my maiden name too?”

  “About your mom teasing you with Pouty Troutty? Yes, sorry.” Nick crossed his heart and gave me a sarcastic smile. “But I haven’t told a soul, I promise.”

  My hand touched the door handle as I read Brad’s text message.